


Pretend to Be

by slamncram



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Friends With Benefits, Kissing, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Nightmares, Prophetic Dreams, Season/Series 01, Sleeping Together, mentions of intimacy, spoilers up to season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slamncram/pseuds/slamncram
Summary: Jon wakes from a nightmare he doesn't remember. Tim is there to distract him from the ghosts it leaves behind.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Comments: 12
Kudos: 113





	Pretend to Be

The ground unfolded before him, mud and scant clumps of grass, yellow and brittle looking, stretching out only a few feet ahead of his steps. With all of that came the air, thick and bitter on his tongue after every breath, and with the road, the sky spread out above him.

It was the sky that was the most horrible sight.

He thought it was the eyes. Countless wide, unblinking eyes, rolling in unseen, impossible sockets. They took in everything and he swore, when he looked back along the road, they were all focused on him. They did not settle until he passed by. Then, they watched him.

He knew he should not feel even a speck of comfort in it, but he did. It made him feel ashamed.

In equal parts, it made him feel safe. Whatever the eyes in the sky were, they did not wish him harm. They were _pleased_ with him.

Why, he could not begin to know. He didn’t want to think about it.

There wasn’t much else to think about, though. It was either that, or consider what this place was.

What this place seemed like was the end of the world. A barren waste, a sickly sky, and, when he took care to listen, the distressing cacophony of human suffering. Screaming, crying, voices begging in the dark for help, for a reprieve. It made his skin crawl.

It made the eyes above positively gleeful.

Even knowing all this, he continued on. In a way, he didn’t think he had a choice. His feet moved without his say so, his body not truly his own anymore. The mud squelched on either side of his boots, the wind filled his nostrils with that putrid stench, and he kept going.

He kept going until he could see it clearly.

A tower, raising high into the pollution coloured clouds, their wispy bulk parting around its summit like an embrace. He knew, seeing it, that it was where he was headed, and it was where he would find what he was looking for, even if, in that moment, he didn’t know what that may be.

And then the Watcher within the tower looked at him, _truly_ looked, and everything became pain, and fire, and fear.

“Jon. Jon!”

Almost immediately the frenzy disappeared, the fire giving way to darkness barely pierced by moonlight, the fear giving way to disorientation. The dream faded fast, like it had never been there, the strands of it, the imagery slipping through Jon’s fingers like water.

As it slid away, he became aware, again, of where he was. Not on a road, nor in his own bed, where the table beside would be piled high with books. It made sense that he wasn’t in his own bed;his bed was hardly big enough for two, especially when the second body in the bed belonged to Tim Stoker.

Tim’s hand was on his shoulder, his eyes, shining in the moonlight, worried, and a little bleary, watching Jon’s face. That answered where it was that Jon had come back to himself, then.

Tim’s flat.

Right. They’d been finishing up filing on a statement, late, last night, and Tim had offered to take him home. Jon had been the one, halfway to the doors, who had asked if he could stay the night at Tim’s. One thing had led to another, and here they were.

“Christ, I’m sorry,” Jon muttered, reaching up to rub at his face. “Take it I woke you?”

Tim huffed, quietly, something like a laugh, and the pillow next to Jon’s head dipped as he propped himself up with the side of his head leaned in his hand.

“Well, a bit, yes. Tends to happen when you scream in your sleep.”

Jon dropped his hand back to his side, looking over at Tim. He could feel his face heating with shame.

“I – I was _screaming_?”

His mortification must have been horribly apparent in his voice because Tim raised himself up off the mattress, making a small hushing motion as the bed sheets pooled around his waist.

“It wasn’t _quite_ screaming. More like... yelling? If it helps, you weren’t loud enough to scare the neighbours, so I won’t be having to explain that I’m not killing cats in here.”

Jon groaned, putting an arm over his eyes. “Tim...”

“You didn’t _exactly_ sound like a cat being killed, I suppose. But in the same general category.”

“Tim!”

Lifting his arm just a bit, Jon looked up at him. His eyes had adjusted to the dark, now, and he could see the smile on Tim’s face, even in the gloom.

“Could have just been on really _pissed off_ cat, of course. Doesn’t necessarily have to have been one being tortured--”

Jon lifted his arm the rest of the way, shoving at Tim’s chest. “All right, I get it!”

Tim laughed, letting Jon’s halfhearted shove be the catalyst he needed to lay back down properly, on his front. One of his arms he kept curled under his head to prop it up, the other draped over Jon’s middle, his fingers wandering idly up and down the soft skin near Jon’s elbow.

“You all right, though? I assume that was some sort of nightmare. Otherwise, I’ll have to assume it was a reaction to being in my bed, and not only will I be hurt, I also won’t trust it, considering last night...”

That comment was true enough, and Jon knew it. The night before was still vivid in his memory.

It wasn’t often that Jon ended up here with that telltale ache that he supposed was somewhere in the neighbourhood of want. It was a good ache, that much he could admit. Since their days in research, Jon had been known, on occasion, to let Tim talk him in to coming home with him for a drink. A year was what it had taken to get to that point, for Tim to wear Jon down to being somewhat social. After that, it had been a good seven months before Jon had kissed Tim. It had been five more before he’d mustered up the boldness to ask Tim to take him to bed.

It wasn’t something he _did_. Certainly not often. Not nearly as often as many of his coworkers. But, every now and then, he didn’t mind it. The personal connection. The sharing of pleasure with someone.

And Tim did have a certain way of making things particularly pleasurable.

Last night had been no exception.

Jon remembered it, much more clearly than the nightmare that had woken him. Tim’s mouth on his, Tim’s hands guiding him to the bedroom, undressing him. Tim’s hands, his lips, moving over Jon’s skin, and then Jon’s own hands, pushing Tim onto his back, roaming down over Tim’s stomach. Tim on his back, his hands on Jon’s thighs, his mouth, falling open in a way that made Jon feel incredibly powerful...

Last night had indeed been no exception, and it was exactly why Tim knew that whatever Jon had been screaming at, it hadn’t been finding himself in this bed.

“Yes, Tim, we are all very impressed with your performance last night,” Jon said, deadpan.

Tim pulled a face. “Could we _not_ describe it like you’re giving me my work review?”

Jon smiled, pleased enough with that reaction, before he turned his gaze to the ceiling. Lights tracked across it, head lamps from the cars passing on the street below.

“It was a nightmare, I think,” he answered, finally.

“You think?” Tim asked, after a moment, his voice soft, barely more than a whisper at Jon’s side.

Jon sighed.

“I can’t really remember it. I know, I _know_ , I just woke up from it, but I don’t remember anything.” He paused. “Well, aside from a vague feeling of... wrongness.”

And shame.

There was a hint of shame there that Jon could not place. For all he knew, it was attached to knowing he’d been screaming in his sleep.

Tim hummed next to him, his fingers drifting down the inside of Jon’s arm, light and soothing.

“That happens, doesn’t it? Even with better dreams.”

Jon nodded. “Yes. Doesn’t mean that I like it.”

“Oh,” Tim laughed. “I wasn’t thinking that you _liked_ it. Trust me, boss.”

Jon groaned. “Tim.”

“Right, right. No ‘boss’ when we aren’t at the Institute.”

Tim shifted, rolling onto his back, his fingers around Jon’s wrist pulling him along. Jon went without argument, curling up at Tim’s side, head pillowed on his shoulder.

He’d never admit to this sort of thing outside of these four walls. Especially not now, when he was, technically, Tim’s boss. There were rules they were breaking here, an image of himself that he was trying to project that would be shattered. No matter how much of a comfort it was to lay here and soak in the warmth from Tim – both literal and otherwise – he couldn’t easily admit this was where he spent the occasional night.

He needed to make an effort to do it less, he knew, but that was a hard thing to tell himself when he was laid here like this.

“You going to be able to sleep again?” Tim asked, after a few minutes of silence had passed. He’d obviously caught on that Jon was lying there, frowning, thinking, _not_ going back to sleep.

“I’d better,” Jon sighed, finally accepting the truth of it. “Work tomorrow. I have a meeting with Elias and I have to try to check in with Martin. The idiot is still sick, I assume, if his texts are anything to go by.”

Tim sighed. “Jon. He means well.” He didn’t sound annoyed, almost amused. Like he knew something that Jon didn’t. “And he thinks a lot of you.”

 _That,_ Jon thought, must be the thing he knew that Jon didn’t.

“Well, he could do his job a little better. You can’t argue with that.”

Tim laughed again, quiet and warm. “God, you’re so grumpy after a nightmare!”

Jon scowled and sat up.

“I can leave, you know. If I’m so _grumpy_. Wouldn’t want to disturb your sleep any more than I already have.”

The only effect that had was to make Tim laugh harder, pulling Jon back down and gathering him up in his arms. Jon couldn’t deny the comfort in it. Nor could he deny the little laugh it pulled out of him.

“Grumpy.” Tim repeated, resting back on the pillow, Jon hovering above him. “It’s all right. It’s what drew me to you back in research. I had to see this.”

His thumb brushed against the corner of Jon’s smile.

“Always knew I could get a smile out of you.”

Jon rolled his eyes.

“Idiot,” he muttered, leaning down and pressing one small, soft kiss to Tim’s mouth. He drew back, just enough that when Tim’s fingers laced through his hair to pull him down for another, he didn’t have far to go.

“It’s four in the morning,” Tim said, finally, when their lips parted again. “It you want to be even semi-tolerable at work tomorrow...”

“Yes.” Jon agreed, shifting and setting down at Tim’s side again. “We’d best try to sleep.”

It was barely another minute before Tim took a breath.

“Just one more thing before we sleep.”

Jon hummed. “Mm?”

“You don’t think Elias knows about our decidedly bad boss-assistant activities, do you?” Jon could _hear_ the amusement in his voice as he continued. “I mean, could you _imagine_? If that’s what your meeting was about tomorrow?”

Tucking away the fact that he knew he needed to cut back on these decidedly bad boss-assistant activities, Jon replied, “ _thankfully_ , I think it’s more likely it’s about how we’re doing at recording the statements and getting the Archives in order after the mess Gertrude made.”

“Yeah, but _imagine_ \--”

“--Go to sleep, Tim.”

Jon never did remember that nightmare.

Not until years later.

Not until he was standing in the remains of a world he’d helped to ruin, on a muddy road, under a sky full of eyes, who were positively gleeful.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you'd like to come yell at/with me about The Magnus Archives and other nonsense, you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/slamncram)!


End file.
